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140

SONNET.—TO ONE DEPARTING FOR ENGLAND.

The bark is ready for your carriage hence,
Dear friend, and o'er the waters soon your eye
The shores of glorious Albion shall descry,
Whose merry cheer shall more than recompense
The pangs of every parting. It may be
You shall forget, in dear ones at your home,
The friends that here you leave beyond the sea—
For such is still the wont of those who roam.
But if it chance that you should think of me,
Think of me only as of one denied,
Who fain would go upon a pilgrimage,
Seeking his absent friends; and would assuage
His sorrow, by beholding them in pride,
Stately, in ancient halls, where reverence grows with age.